Jill Steeples: Desperately Seeking Heaven

LOVE, UNEXPECTED

Love always comes when you least expect it, at least that’s what PA Alice Fletcher tells herself as she looks forward to another Friday night of trash telly and wine-for-one.

But what happens when the unexpected is daytime TV crush Jimmy Mack, and he’s sitting on your couch watching the news… of the accident that claimed his life?

Soon, Alice finds her ordered life turned upside down by helping Jimmy cross over to the ‘other side’.

But most unexpected of all is Alice’s growing realisation that her gorgeous ghost has taken up residence in her heart as well as in her home.

Desperately Seeking Heaven

Jill Steeples

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013

Copyright © Jill Steeples 2013

Jill Steeples asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9781472043429

Version date: 2018-07-23

JILL STEEPLESlives in a small market town in Bedfordshire with her husband and two children.

From an early age she fell in love with the fabulously funny romances of Jilly Cooper, and vowed, one day, she would have a go at writing one of her own.

Jill loves writing short stories, particularly those with a twist in the tail, and her work has appeared in popular women’s magazines around the world and in a number of charity anthologies.

This is her first novel.

A big thank you to the Geese, the loveliest, most generous and talented bunch of writers you could wish to meet, for their support, encouragement and most of all, the giggles.

For Nick, Tom and Ellie

With my love

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Endpages

About the Publisher

I’m not superstitious. Not really. I mean I wouldn’t walk underneath a ladder or anything like that because that would be silly. And if I see a magpie then naturally I’d do a little scout around the area to see if I can find his mate and if not I’ll chirp, ‘Good Morning, Mr Magpie, how are you and your family today?’, but that’s just normal stuff. The sort of thing everyone does, right? And it wasn’t as if Friday 13 thheld any trepidation for me whatsoever because it’s just a day like any other day. Or at least I thought it was. That was until that strange afternoon. The afternoon of Friday 13 thMarch when the events that unfolded were to change my life and my loves forever.

‘You still here?’ Damon Mitchell was standing in the doorway to my office, bouncing a ball casually on the floor, his usual sharp suit replaced with white three-quarter length shorts and a low-slung vest, showing off muscles I hadn’t known he possessed. The sight on a Friday afternoon was startling in the extreme and I glanced away, feeling a colour tinge my cheeks, before sneaking another look.

‘Almost done,’ I said breezily, picking up the management reports from my desk and popping them in the drawer below, locking the cabinet shut with my key.

When I looked up, Damon was bent over, stretching his hamstrings, looking up at me from beneath his floppy fringe. Did he really have to do that in my office?

‘We’re still a player short, Alice. Why don’t you come along? You never know, you might enjoy yourself.’

‘Ha, believe me, I know,’ I laughed. I had no desire to be getting hot and sweaty in front of Damon. No, retaining a dignified distance at all times was definitely the way to go with the likes of ace sportsmen like Damon. I pushed my chair beneath my desk before reaching for my jacket from the coat stand. ‘Ball games are not my thing. But you have a great time. You can tell me all about it on Monday.’

‘Ah well, at least I tried. You have a good weekend, Alice.’

‘Yeah, you too, Damon.’

It wasn’t just that I’m not the athletic type without any competitive spirit whatsoever. As PA to Simon Ibottson, CEO of Merron Enterprises, I’d always stayed a respectful distance away from the chummy camaraderie that existed on the sales, marketing and finance floors. I couldn’t really be seen to be indulging in the late-night drinking sessions even if I’d wanted to. Instead, I tried to hold onto a professional and friendly demeanour at all times.

‘Night, Alice!’ he called.

Outside, still smiling, I climbed into my car, deciding because of the uncharacteristically warm weather to pull down the lid. The first time that year. It was one of those glorious spring days that tantalises with the promise of summer and the prospect of a whole weekend ahead with nothing to do was bliss. I ran my hands through my hair, feeling the week’s stresses melt away. A couple of glossy magazines, a pile of soppy rom-com DVDs, a box of tissues, a family bag of Maltesers and a couple of bottles of Sauvignon Blanc. There, my weekend was now satisfyingly chock-a-bloc.

I took the back roads home, a journey I could have done with my eyes shut, although even in my carefree state I was sensible enough to realise that probably wasn’t the best option. I loved that drive, my eyes always picking out something new along the country lanes that wound their way through the villages. The picturesque backdrop of green tended fields, stone buildings and colourful bulbs popping their heads up greeting the lengthening days only heightened my sense of well-being. With the CD player turned up high, the wind blowing through my hair, I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, doo-whopping along to the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

It was only as I rounded the sharp bend before the road opened up into beckoning countryside that I became aware of something. Something odd. A sense of dread rose in my chest. Where was everyone? It was a Friday afternoon and there wasn’t a soul around. Despite me being buffeted by the wind there was a noticeable stillness that lent an eerie quality to the surroundings.

Shivering, I drove on and that’s when my foot took on a life force of its own, involuntarily slamming down onto the brake as I wrestled with the steering wheel, guiding the car into a small cut-away at the side of a large field. My breath quickening, I climbed out and, standing on tiptoes, gazed over the hedgerow at the scene in front of me. Oh my good God! I hadn’t imagined it. A car, silver, large, was upended, its wheels still spinning, the side panels crushed, its windows shattered. On the ground twenty feet away from the car was a solitary figure crumpled on the grass